


Rose, In The Conservatory, With Dave's Hand

by jadebloods



Series: HSWC 2013 Fills [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Clue, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, HSWC, Homestuck Shipping World Cup, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Incest, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Prompt Fill, background Dave/Dirk, background Rose/Kanaya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadebloods/pseuds/jadebloods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SIR: jesus<br/>SIR: fuck<br/>SIR: where did you even come from?</p><p>You do as she asks and shut the Conservatory door. This room is all plants and windows. No curtains, no large furniture to hide behind or under, and it's in a corner. All of these things made you certain it was a safe place to hole up until this whole ordeal was over, yet she still managed to fucking sneak up on you. This has to be witchcraft.</p><p>PROF: Secret passageway.</p><p>Or a secret passageway.</p><p>(Clue AU, for HSWC br5)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose, In The Conservatory, With Dave's Hand

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the HSWC Bonus Round 5, set in the universe of the board game Clue (with influences from the 1985 movie).
> 
> It has Rose+Dirk, Dave♦Kanaya, Rose♠Dave, and background Dirk/Dave and Rose/Kanaya.

PROF: You look more like a Marmalade than a Mustard.  
HRH: You look more like a TA than a professor. So what?  
PROF: You're right. I'm not a professor. At least not in the sense that I teach at a university, but I do have credentials pertaining to my mastery of the subject of the Eldrich abominations and my literal communion with the horrorterrors. The actual word loses some meaning in translation, but 'professor' is close enough for government work.  
HRH: Man, I'm so glad you decided to share that.

The shadows in the dusty, vacant bedroom don't faze you one bit. Neither do the tentacles you swear you keep seeing swish around the hem of Plum's long skirt. You keep telling yourself that it has to be a trick of the light, except you're the one holding the flashlight, and the occasional blast of lightning is the only other ephemeral light source.

You blink and they're gone again. 

PROF: What about you?  
HRH: What ABOUT me?  
PROF: You can't go around questioning a lady's pedigree and not expect to receive in kind.

She walks past you to check in the closet, so she's cloaked in more darkness than usual. You're totally not disconcerted, especially when something seems to creep back toward you from the floor.

HRH: Ok. Go on.

Plum pokes her head out and looks at you with slight exasperation.

PROF: Are you actually a prince? Maybe of some remote island kingdom, by the looks of you. Caribbean? South Pacific? Stop me if I'm getting warm.  
HRH: How about you just stop, period.  
PROF: Secretive or embarrassed? You're lucky I'm not a gambling woman.  
HRH: Neither, ok? It's just, you know. Isn't this against the rules? No identifying information and all that?  
PROF: Fuck the rules, Mustard. Anyway, you broke them first.  
HRH: I didn't, though. If you paid attention, you'd realize that I never asked you a direct question. I just made a casual statement of disbelief, and you volunteered the information.  
PROF: Well. I...

She trails off as she returns to the closet, perhaps invested in the search for murderous lunatics, but likely just annoyed that you got one over on her. You decide to let the point lie-- no use rubbing it in, especially since you have to be alone with her for the foreseeable future in a dark and creepy house with a killer of unknown identity running around offing people.

Which, of course, is why it makes absolute sense that you're in this random dusty-ass bedroom looking through closets and under the bedskirts. Because if _you_ were a murderer, you'd do something totally suspicious like hide behind a couch waiting for someone to wander into your trap as opposed to doing the smart thing, which would be to hide in plain fucking sight.

You stand up off of the floor, where you had been kneeling to peer under the furniture, and let yourself flop down on the bed.

HRH: This is stupid.  
PROF: What?  
HRH: This whole thing. If the killer is one of us, then why did we split up? It makes the most sense to force everyone to stay together, that way nobody can sneak off to do any more murdering.

She steps back into the main bedroom, dusting herself off and smoothing her skirt before sitting down next to you, a polite but not completely unfamiliar distance away. From this close, you can clearly see that there are no tentacles in, on, or around her, so you relax a bit. The both of you stare at the rain angrily hitting the window panes.

PROF: Not everyone is a pragmatist. They want to believe that the darkness comes from the outside and can't possibly be generated inside one of us. Pushing the blame onto an unseen, unnamed other gives them hope that the person who sipped soup next to them at dinner isn't going to be the one to turn around and snuff out their light a few hours later.  
HRH: Their hope is going to get someone else killed.  
PROF: Well, on the bright side, if someone else dies we can pretty safely assume that their partner was the killer.  
HRH: Small comfort. Also, not true. Someone could sneak away from their partner to kill someone else's partner, thus framing that someone else for the crime.  
PROF: Hmm. Or maybe they're counting on us to follow that line of logic when they just kill their own partner. Simple, yet brilliant.  
HRH: I'm not sure I like the ease at which you came to that conclusion.

Plum smiles at you, and it's the first time you've seen her smile all night. She doesn't show her teeth, which oddly enough makes you trust her instinctively.

HRH: So...  
PROF: So?  
HRH: What about Scarlet?  
PROF: Ugh. What about him?  
HRH: Do you think he's really a knight?

\---

SIR: oh my god ive hit the retro tie motherlode here  
MS: I Think Were Supposed To Be Looking For A Murderous Lunatic  
MS: Not Silk Ties  
MS: No Matter How Well They Might Pair With Our Wardrobe  
MS: ...  
MS: Are There Any Jade Ones In There  
SIR: i dunno  
SIR: im human remember in the dark all we see are shades of grey  
SIR: actually thats not true its more like shades of dark blue on top of darker blue and then some black  
SIR: also shades of grey makes it sound like im discussing moral ambiguity instead of how cones suck at working in the dark  
SIR: or is it rods?  
SIR: anyway yeah moral ambiguity or kinky housewife novels which really id rather not talk about either way  
MS: Wait What  
MS: Is This Novel Also In Your Closet  
MS: If So Your Closet Is Much More Interesting Than Mine  
MS: Dont Get Me Wrong Im Having An Enjoyable Time Communing With The Moths Currently Eating These Sweaters  
MS: But I Am Really Not Into The Whole Knit Sweater Thing  
MS: Woolbeast Yarn Makes Me Itch  
SIR: why dont you bring your glowing ass over here then

That's not hyperbole. Ms. Green's ass is very literally glowing. Then again, so is the rest of her, but "bring your glowing whole self over here" doesn't carry quite the same oomph, does it? She stops in front of the door of your closet, and already you can see the ties way better. Look at that: there _are_ a few jade ones after all.

SIR: wait  
SIR: before you join me in this tiny enclosed space to look at fashion accessories i have to ask you something kind of important  
MS: What  
SIR: youre not the killer are you?  
MS: I Assume By Your Use Of The Human Definite Article 'The' That You Are Asking Me If I Am The One Who Killed The Host Of This Party As Well As Several Members Of The Wait Staff  
MS: In Which Case I Can Safely Say That No  
MS: I Am Not The Killer  
SIR: ok cool  
MS: Although In The Interest Of Full Disclosure I Do Need To Inform You That Im A Killer  
MS: With The Human Indefinite Article 'A'  
MS: Which Would Indicate That While Im Not The Specific Killer You Mention I Have In Fact Killed Before  
SIR: wait  
MS: And I Might Like To Do So Again  
SIR: what  
MS: But I Cannot Speak For My Future Self  
SIR: excuse me but you cant just make a statement like that and let it sit all pristine on the table without any further discussion like it aint made out of shit  
SIR: as if im just going to let you in my closet with a whole buncha nooses after saying that

She ignores your protests and squeezes into the small closet, sitting next to you on the floor. There really isn't enough room for the both of you, so she's half on top of you. It might be awkward except for the part where you're pretty sure you aren't her type, and you're not into girls who are a whole head and shoulders taller than you.

You're also not into girls who may have just confessed murder to you, but that's beside the point. You think.

MS: It Was Sanctioned Murder In My Culture  
MS: Not As Sanctioned As An Official Culling But Still Considered Deserving And Legitimate  
SIR: sanctioned murder  
MS: Surely I Dont Need To Explain The Concept To You  
MS: I Thought That Was Part Of A Knights Duty  
MS: Murder At The Behest Of The Monarchy  
SIR: um  
MS: We Have That Too  
MS: Kind Of  
MS: Except Theyre Drones Not Knights  
MS: And Youre Much Better Company Than A Drone Would Be  
MS: I Definitely Would Not Be Sitting In The Floor Of A Garment Crypt With An Imperial Drone  
MS: For One Thing I Dont Trust Their Skill At Selecting A Palette

You dig through the boxes of old ties on the floor and select one while she talks, holding it up to her shoulder. It's a thick daisy yellow tie that makes the green of her dress look summery. 

SIR: im gonna take that as you like my selection  
SIR: and as for the other thing  
SIR: being knighted is more of an honorary than anything else these days  
SIR: its not like ive been spending my days jousting with the dark knight of tottingham or knottingham or denmark or idk wherever it is dark knights come from  
SIR: transylvania maybe  
SIR: gotham city idfk

She rotates her upper body toward you so that you can tie it for her, so you thread it under her collar and set to work knotting the delicate silk.

MS: Derse  
SIR: excuse me?  
MS: If There Is Such A Thing As A Dark Knight He Or She Would Undoubtedly Come From Derse  
MS: It Only Makes Sense  
SIR: shit  
SIR: the enemy was in my black little heart all along  
SIR: thanks lady i really needed that existential crisis on top of this murderous witch hunt  
MS: I Dont Think The Witch Is The Murderer In This Case  
MS: She May Have Highly Illogical Ideas About The Subject Of Passwords  
MS: As Well As A Very Cavalier Attitude Regarding Gun Safety  
MS: But I Trust Her  
SIR: yeah me too  
SIR: its a figure of speech

You finish the knot and smooth it down her front, dusting it off and setting her collar. Green looks like some kind of anachronism, a beautiful woman in a short, fat tie, straight out of an old Cosa Nostra film. Not to mention the horns, which add a nice touch of surrealism. You might feel something for her, but you have a hard time putting your finger on what.

SIR: perfect  
SIR: a lady like you needs a thick knot  
MS: Do You Think She Will Like It  
MS: ???  
SIR: who  
MS: The Professor  
SIR: omg please tell me youre joking

\---

PROF: Shut the door.  
SIR: jesus  
SIR: fuck  
SIR: where did you even come from?

You do as she asks and shut the Conservatory door. This room is all plants and windows. No curtains, no large furniture to hide behind or under, and it's in a corner. All of these things made you certain it was a safe place to hole up until this whole ordeal was over, yet she still managed to fucking sneak up on you. This has to be witchcraft.

PROF: Secret passageway.

Or a secret passageway.

PROF: Did anyone recognize you?  
SIR: i dont think so  
SIR: why would they  
SIR: do we know any of these ignoramuses  
PROF: His Royal Highness asked me about you. He asked if you were a real knight.  
SIR: and you said what  
SIR: wait let me guess it was something emasculating wasnt it  
PROF: I told him that you have a great deal of experience handling the sword in your pants, but not much else.  
SIR: bingo  
SIR: thats a lie and you know it  
SIR: i mean yeah i guess im pretty good at that i will allow myself some masturbatory props because on the basis of the empirical data available to me im simply the best there is  
SIR: so fine  
SIR: its half a lie then  
PROF: As much as I love discussing your masturbatory habits, I'm going to have to ask you to stuff it.

She walks over to you, gathering up her skirt with each step until you can just barely see her panties in the moonlight. You can only see them if you look slightly to the side, like if you're trying to look directly at a star. 

When she finishes crossing the distance, she takes your hand gently-- her hands are warm and small and dry-- and places it between her legs.

PROF: No, I mean that. Stuff it. Don't make me tell you twice, Da--

You stop her by putting your other hand over her mouth. You know, the one not currently in her disappearing star panties. You hold it there to keep her quiet while you slide your fingers over the fabric and slip one inside her. She was ready for it-- it goes right in.

SIR: no real names remember?  
SIR: you can call me sir if you want to though

She bites your middle finger hard and you pull that hand away. You probably deserved that, but she doesn't back away, either. She's mad, but not mad enough to stop you from touching her or to stop her head from dropping to your shoulder.

SIR: ms green asked about you too by the way  
SIR: she wanted my opinion on some critical outfit choices  
SIR: dont worry girl i fixed her up good  
SIR: youll like it

She makes a choked noise, and you know she's thinking about Ms. Green. She knows what trolls are reputed to have in their pants-- or under their skirts, as it were-- and that kind of shit is right up her Lovecraftian xenophile alley.

SIR: youre thinking about her arent you  
SIR: shit  
SIR: should i leave you to it

You make to pull away, and it's obviously a bluff, you both know it, but she grabs your wrist and holds you tightly in place, riding your hand and twisting your arm into an unnatural angle. Your shoulder hurts and the muscles in your forearm are burning, but you don’t try to escape. She's mouthing at your shoulder, smearing her black lipstick all over your black suit jacket. Thank god for small favors, right?

You hook your thumb so that it slides against her clit every time she shifts forward. That's pretty clearly the right move to make, because before long she's gripping your shoulder as her body clenches your fingers tightly. She's silent, more or less, unless you count the several harsh breaths through her nose.

She's almost always silent when she comes.

SIR: not that that wasnt smoking hot or anything but i think my arm is about to fall off  
SIR: do you think maybe i could have it back

She lets go of your wrist, and you rotate your shoulder a few times, rubbing the burn out of your muscles. When your arm stops tingling, you grab your pocket square and use it to wipe off your hand. Then you stare at it blankly a moment before stuffing it into your pants pocket. Can't exactly have it on display anymore, you guess.

PROF: I could reciprocate.  
SIR: yeah  
SIR: uh  
SIR: thanks for the offer but i think id rather keep my wits about me right now  
SIR: rain check?

She shrugs and adjusts her panties before letting her skirt drop back to the floor. You know she's gotta be sticky in there, and you try not to think about her walking around the rest of the night with wet panties. It kinda makes you regret turning her down.

PROF: If you insist. It makes more sense to me to get in one for the road, especially if you think you could die tonight.  
SIR: im trying to lay off the morbid bullshit and leave it to the professionals from now on  
SIR: i guess that would be you  
SIR: anyway im not worried about dying but im kinda concerned about ms green  
SIR: lost her a little while back  
SIR: i hope shes ok  
PROF: I'm sure she's fine. Mustard and I already profiled the killer, and we decided that he or she would most likely kill their own partner. Since you're her partner, and you're obviously not the killer, I think she's probably very safe indeed.  
SIR: yeah probably  
SIR: wait what do you mean im obviously not the killer  
PROF: Well, are you?  
SIR: no  
SIR: are you?

She smiles, and you see the moonlight shine off of her white teeth. You trust her instinctively, but you start to think that maybe you shouldn't.


End file.
